


Conversing From Our Balconies

by sneetchstar



Series: Gendrya Month April 2020 [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/M, quarantine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23488999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: Quarantine fic for Gendrya Month 2020.  The theme for the first week is "Trapped" and I didn't exactly follow the prompt but I do what I want.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: Gendrya Month April 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690471
Comments: 37
Kudos: 209
Collections: Still Rowing: A Gendrya Centric Fanfic Collection





	Conversing From Our Balconies

**Author's Note:**

> All this time,  
> while we were busy  
> conversing from  
> our balconies,  
> and falling in love,  
> I wonder if  
> our balconies  
> fell in love too?
> 
> -Mayank Roy

-Day One-

“So you’re staying at Dragonstone then?” Arya asks, trying not to sound too happy about it. She likes Shireen, she really does. But the government just decreed that people need to stay indoors as much as possible, throwing around new terms like “self-quarantine” and “social distancing” that she is _already_ tired of hearing, and Arya being Arya, would prefer to spend the indeterminate amount of time alone.

She always gets tired of other people’s company after a while. She doesn’t know what it is. Even her favorite people, like Jon and, yes, Shireen start to get on her nerves after too long spent with them.

She doesn’t know if that’s a normal thing or if it’s her own damage, but it is what it is. The two-bedroom apartment she shares with Shireen Baratheon in King’s Landing suits them fine, most of the time. They each have their own room, the living room is spacious, and since they’re both introverts, they can spend a lot of good quality time not talking to each other without getting offended.

But Shireen left Thursday for a long weekend back home to celebrate her mother’s birthday, leaving Arya to enjoy her own long weekend alone.

Friday morning, everything went to shit. A virus from Essos managed to spread across the Narrow Sea into Westeros. King’s Landing, being the largest city, anticipated being hit hard, so Queen Daenerys was quick to act. As soon as Grand Maester Tarly advised it, she ordered that everything be shut down to stem the spread of the highly-contagious virus before it got out of hand.

Which left Arya on the phone with Shireen on Saturday, learning that she’s going to have at least two weeks to herself. Possibly longer, depending on how well the willful citizens of King’s Landing follow instructions.

 _Not very well_ , she thinks, looking out of her balcony doors to see only slightly less foot traffic outside than usual.

“Yes, I’ve got enough supplies. I went shopping the day you left, actually,” Arya replies to Shireen’s latest query, which she knows actually came from her slightly cold yet somehow overprotective mother, Selyse. “And you know I know how to stay inside,” she jokes. “Yeah. Take care. And happy birthday to your mum.”

Arya disconnects the call and flops down onto the couch. She changes the channel on the television from the news, settling on one of those paranormal investigation shows.

Just as she gets interested in the program, her phone buzzes where it is still sitting on her relaxed palm. She looks down at the screen and sighs knowingly.

“Yes, Mum, I am staying inside,” she answers.

-Day Three (Monday)-

_Rickon: You have to help me I am literally going stir crazy. Mum is driving me absolutely barmy. Shaggy is actually getting tired of going for walks._

_Rickon: I used to think this house was too big. Now I don’t think it’s big ENOUGH._

Arya rolls her eyes before she replies.

_Dude, it’s literally been three days._

Her youngest brother has always been a rather dramatic ball of energy.

_A: How is Bran faring?_

_R: He’s fucking THRIVING. If he wasn’t BRAN, I would say he probably doesn’t even know there’s a pandemic going on._

Then, about 15 seconds later, almost like it’s an afterthought, another text comes.

_R: How are you?_

Arya snorts.

_A: I’m doing fine. Obviously everything is cancelled for me, but I’m still practicing as much as I can stand._

_R: So not that much then._

_A: Right LOL_

He doesn’t reply right away, so she tosses her phone on the couch cushion and decides to go out onto her balcony for her daily airing.

She slides open the door and steps out. Several other people in buildings around her are doing the same, since the weather is turning nicer. She looks around and sees many people wearing pajama bottoms and hoodies or other similarly comfortable garb. Her northern blood means she’s comfortable in a tank top and thin cotton pajama bottoms adorned with frolicking husky dogs. The man directly across the street from her is wearing jeans and a button-down shirt and she immediately decides he is a sociopath and wants nothing to do with him.

“Hey.”

A voice startles her and she jumps, cursing herself. She doesn’t startle easily.

“To your left,” the voice says again, and Arya turns her head to see a man standing on the balcony belonging to the apartment next door. “Um, hi,” he says.

“Hello,” she replies, looking him up and down. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt and jeans, but the jeans look very well-worn and soft, so she’ll hold off on labeling him as dangerous just yet. Especially because he’s unrealistically gorgeous and has eyes so blue they shouldn’t be allowed.

“You don’t happen to have any coffee creamer, do you?” he asks after a brief pause.

“We’re supposed to be _social distancing_ ,” she answers. “And no, I drink tea, like civilized people,” she adds, smiling a little.

“Shit. Okay. I guess I’ll have to make do with milk,” he says, half to himself. “I don’t have that virus, by the way.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I was self-quarantining before self-quarantining was cool,” he answers. “I work from home and rarely go out.”

She angles her head at him. “I guess that explains why I don’t remember seeing you around,” she says.

“I also just moved in last month.”

“Oh, so that’s what all that noise was.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, looking down at his feet, which Arya notices are bare, like hers.

“No, it’s fine. You were moving in; it’s to be expected. And we haven’t heard a peep since then,” she says.

“We?”

“My roommate and I. She’s not here though. She went home for her mum’s birthday and is stuck there now.”

“Ah.”

A police car races down the street below, siren screaming. He jumps this time; Arya doesn’t.

“Looks like they found out about us being outside,” she jokes, reaching for the door handle.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he asks as she slides the door open.

“Arya,” she answers.

“I’m Gendry,” he replies.

“Nice to meet you,” she says, gives him a small smile, then disappears inside.

-Day Seven (Friday)-

Arya closes her laptop, glances at her bassoon sitting in its stand in the corner, then sighs, grabs a banana and her cup of tea, and goes out to her balcony.

She sees her neighbor on his balcony, sitting on a chair with a plate and a fork, eating something.

He’s wearing glasses this morning, and no one should look that good wearing glasses.

“Gendry, right?” she asks.

“Yep. And you’re… I’m sorry, I’m terrible with names,” he says, brow furrowing. “No!” he holds up his hand. “I’m trying to get better. It starts with ‘A.’” When she nods, an amused smile curling her lips, he purses his lips and says, “Anya?”

“You’re close,” she says.

“Arya! It’s Arya, right?”

“There you go.”

“You have bananas?” he asks.

She knows it’s mostly a rhetorical question meant to make conversation, so she doesn’t pounce on the obviousness of it. “One left after this. I still have a lot of apples though.”

“Well they keep longer, don’t they?” he says with a nod. Then he shovels another forkful into his mouth.

Arya walks to the end of her balcony, moving closer to him. “Is that… a cinnamon roll from Hot Pie’s?” She’d know one of Hot Pie’s cinnamon rolls anywhere. She almost thinks she can smell it, but she’s not sure if she actually can or if it’s just her memory and imagination conspiring against her.

Gendry nods, then swallows. “Yeah.”

“It looks fresh.” She narrows her eyes at him.

“It is,” he confirms.

Her eyes widen. “Hot Pie’s delivers?” she exclaims.

“Um… he does to me,” he answers.

She blinks twice. “You _know_ Hot Pie.”

“We’ve been friends since we were kids,” he confirms. “He’s doing curbside pickup and making things for the homeless shelters, but he dropped off a bunch of things for me this morning. Day old, actually, but I’m not that picky.” He picks up his coffee cup and takes a sip. “He even brought me a bag full of creamers from his place for my coffee.”

Arya laughs. “Well, aren’t you the lucky one,” she says. Then she hesitantly asks, “What did he bring you?”

Gendry sets his plate down and ducks inside. She eyes it, wishing their balconies were closer so she could sneak a bite.

He returns a minute later with a big box and immediately starts laughing. “Are you having eye sex with my breakfast?” he asks.

She immediately tears her eyes away from the pastry and looks at him, feeling her cheeks redden. “Maybe,” she admits.

He stops and looks at her for a moment. “You have amazing eyes,” he says.

“What?”

“Your, um, eyes. They’re really cool.” It’s his turn to blush now.

“Thanks. So are yours. I thought you were wearing colored contacts when I first met you, but… they’re really, _really_ blue, aren’t they?” she says.

“Yeah, it’s a… a family trait,” he answers, looking strangely uncomfortable. Then he sets the bakery box on the corner of the balcony railing and opens it. “Yesterday’s treasures,” he says, deftly changing the subject. “Three croissants, two apple fritters, a smattering of scones, blueberry muffins, a square of carrot cake, and some random breads.” He looks up at her. “There was only one cinnamon roll.”

“Pity,” Arya replies.

“You want something?” Gendry offers.

She does. “I couldn’t,” she answers, hoping she sounds more sincere than she feels.

“You definitely want something,” he says. “How about a trade?”

“You don’t know what I have,” she says. “All you know is I don’t have creamer.”

“I know you have one banana in there.”

“You want my last banana?”

He nods. “Desperately.”

She has to laugh at that. “What do I get in return?”

“Your choice, m’lady,” he says, pointing the box at her.

She bites her lower lip. Her attention is fully on the box of goodies that she doesn’t notice _his_ attention is firmly on that lip.

“Apple fritter?” she asks, looking up at him.

“Done,” he declares, moving the box to the table. “So, how are we…?” He looks up, and she’s gone.

She appears in a flash, perfectly ripe banana in hand. “Catch,” she says, but waits until he is ready before she tosses it to him.

“Thanks,” he says, setting it down. Then he takes a napkin and picks up the fritter. “Um, should I do the same with this?”

She claps her hands and holds them out. “Ready.”

He tosses the apple fritter to her and she catches it with great care. “Come to Mama,” she says, grinning down at it. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to be alone with my fritter.”

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he replies with a chuckle, watching as she disappears inside again.

-Day Ten (Monday)-

Arya actually spends most of the day practicing. Thanks to a Zoom meeting with her conductor and most of the rest of the orchestra on Friday, she now has a reason to practice, so she decided to buckle down and do just that.

But by 4:00, she was toasted and decided to be done for the day. She makes herself a cup of tea and heads out to the balcony, hoping to catch a little bit of sunlight.

She sits down and props her feet on the railing. They only _just_ reach, and she has to slouch a bit to get them there, but she is determined.

After about five minutes, she hears the sound of a door to her left sliding open.

“Hey, neighbor,” Arya greets, glancing over at Gendry as he emerges.

“You done working?” he asks.

She nods and drops her feet to stand up. “You said you work at home. What do you do?” she asks, leaning on the balcony rail.

“Industrial design,” he answers, mirroring her posture. She sees his eyes briefly flicker to her chest before returning to her face, but she doesn’t move. She knows her cleavage isn’t anything to write home about, but he’s welcome to look if he wants.

“What does that mean?”

“I design things for industry.”

“Thank you for that circular definition,” she says, rolling her eyes. “What do you really do?”

“I draw pictures of machines,” he answers, smiling.

“Nice,” she nods. “On the computer, I assume?”

“Yeah. What do you do?” he asks.

“You mean you can’t hear me over here?”

“I usually have headphones on.”

“I play bassoon in the King’s Landing Symphony Orchestra. Been practicing all day, in fact,” she answers.

His eyebrows rise. “That’s… really cool. I… I think I have heard you playing a few times, now that you mention it, but I guess I just thought you had weird taste in music.”

She laughs. “I do. But like you, I wear headphones.”

“You should play out here sometime. Give one of those balcony concerts,” he suggests.

She half-shrugs. “Maybe. Right now we’re getting ready to do an online performance. We’ll all be performing from our homes and live-streaming it. It’ll look like a bunch of little boxes on the screen, but it might be cool.”

“When?” he immediately asks. “I want to make sure I catch it.”

She smiles. “Friday night at 8,” she answers. “We’re doing _Petyr and the Direwolf_. Tyrion Lannister is narrating.”

His eyes widen again. “Doesn’t that mean you have a lot of solos then? Isn’t the bassoon, like, the Grandfather or something?” 

Her smile widens into a grin. “You know that piece?”

“Who doesn’t? We listened to it in music class when I was a kid. More than once,” he answers.

She nods. “Right, yeah. And yeah, I have a fair few solos. So I’ll be practicing more than usual this week. Just so you’re warned.” She pauses, then admits in a loud whisper, “I hate practicing.”

“Good career choice then,” he laughs. Then he goes quiet again before saying, “But if you ever need an audience, just… I don’t know, pound on the wall or something.”

-Day 14 (Friday)-

“Arya! Go out to the balcony!”

The words were shouted after a series of loud bangs on the wall between Arya’s and Gendry’s apartments.

Arya smiles as she walks to the balcony doors, still clad in a black button-down blouse over a pair of pink and lime green striped pajama shorts. Only her top half was visible in the video stream.

“Hi,” she greets Gendry, walking to the end closest to him.

“That was _so_ good,” he says. “You’re really good. I… I worked without my headphones a lot this week to see if I could hear you practice, and I could, a bit, but… wow. You’re really good.”

“Thank you,” she replies, blushing. Her phone has been lighting up with notifications since the livestream started and hasn’t slowed down. Her family and friends are texting her their reviews and congratulations. And the video has since been posted, shared, and reblogged on all social media, which means she’s getting notifications from complete strangers as well.

But somehow, his praise somehow means more to her. 

“I watched the whole thing,” he tells her. “And I made sure to tell what few friends I have to watch too. Hot Pie, being one of them.”

“You did that? That’s so… that’s really sweet of you,” she says, softly smiling across at him. He’s looking at her just as softly, almost fondly, and it makes her feel things she hasn’t felt in… probably ever. 

He drops his gaze and rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks. Things being how they are right now… people need something positive. That’s what music is for, isn’t it?”

She angles her head at him. “Do you play an instrument?”

“I used to. When I was in school,” he says. “I gave it up when I went to college, but I played percussion.”

She nods. “That sounds about right,” she says. “Instruments have—”

“Personalities, yeah,” he finishes for her. “Different types of people are attracted to different instruments. Like, I wasn’t really too surprised that you play bassoon.”

“And why is that?” she asks, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Because you seem to like to be a little different,” he answers, giving her a thoughtful look. “I mean that in a good way, of course.”

“I get it,” she says. “My mum wanted me to play violin or flute. Something ‘ladylike,’ like instruments have genders or some shit. I played oboe instead, which she was okay with.”

“That’s weird. I mean your mom’s viewpoints are a little weird. No offense intended.”

“None taken. I think it’s weird too.”

“When did you switch to bassoon?” he asks.

“As soon as I was big enough to reach all the keys,” she says with a laugh. “You may have noticed I’m a little… undersized.”

He smiles. “I may have. But only because I’m a little oversized.”

_Don’t look at his crotch don’t look at his crotch don’t look at his crotch._

_You looked._

“How tall are you?” she asks.

“About six foot three,” he answers, leaning forward against the railing.

“Damn,” she whispers. “I’m not even five-one.”

He stares at her for a moment, and she wonders what he is thinking. _Is he wondering what it’s like to be this small? Is he trying to figure out if he could bench press me?_

_Is he trying to picture how we would have sex? Because that’s definitely what I’m picturing._

Arya clears her throat. “Anyway… thanks for watching the livestream.”

“Anytime,” Gendry replies. She turns to head back inside. “Arya?” he calls, and she stops.

“Hmm?”

He seems to hesitate a moment, then says, “Have a good night.”

Arya has a feeling that’s not what he intended to say, but she smiles. “You too.”

-Day 21 (Friday)-

Arya and Gendry start meeting regularly on their balconies every day, just after four. She learned that he likes to start early because that means he can be done early, even though he’s actually more of a night owl.

He learned that even though she says she hates practicing, she does it every day, even if it’s only for 15 minutes.

They both discovered that they look forward to this time out on their balconies more and more each day.

Arya isn’t sure if it’s the imposed isolation or if Gendry is really just a great guy, but at this point, after three weeks, she really doesn’t care.

She likes him, and isn’t afraid to admit it. And from the way he looks at her, she’s almost willing to bet he likes her too, at least a little bit.

He’s funny in a quiet, dry way. He’s an introvert, and admitted to her that he also has social anxiety, which is why he likes to work at home (“I nearly gave myself a heart attack when I initiated conversation with you that first time,” he had confessed). He has good taste in music and movies. He even likes a lot of the same shows she does, which becomes a frequent topic of conversation for them.

So it doesn’t come as a complete surprise when, on this Friday afternoon, he goes quiet for a moment before saying, “Have dinner with me.”

She smiles a little. She’s learned some of his quirks, and one of those is that he always falls silent before saying something important or difficult.

“I’d love to,” she answers. “But how?”

“You… could come over. I already told you I don’t have it,” he says, his gaze dropping to his hands.

 _He really is too adorable._ “Yeah, but we’re not supposed to. And honestly, I don’t know about me,” she says. “I haven’t had any symptoms, but I traveled recently and I actually go out and see people. Generally speaking. I could still be a carrier.”

“Oh. Right. I guess… rain check then?” he asks, looking up at her with a hopeful expression

“No.”

“No? Um, okay, never—”

“No as in we can still have dinner tonight,” she interrupts, unable to deal with his crestfallen look. “You get your dinner and I’ll get mine and we’ll come out here and eat together.”

His beautiful eyes light up again, and Arya would hug him (at least) if they weren’t separated by just over 6 feet of air on their third-story balconies.

“That’s brilliant,” he replies. “You’re brilliant.”

She flips her hair over her shoulder. “I know,” she jokingly gloats. “What time?”

“I don’t know… six? Seven? What time do you eat?”

“When I’m hungry.”

“And when will that be?”

“Let’s call it six.”

He smiles, and she can’t help returning the gesture. “I like you, Gendry,” she suddenly says.

His mouth opens, closes, and then opens again. “I like you, too, Arya,” he replies.

“Glad that’s settled,” she says, giggling a little at the ridiculousness of all of this. “But if you’ll excuse me, I have to figure out what I’m going to have for dinner. _And_ get ready for a date.”

“See you at six,” he says, and she doesn’t miss the way he watches her until she’s completely out of sight.

Arya walks to the balcony, plate in hand, at 5:55. She has already set up her little table at the end of her balcony closest to Gendry’s and brought her drink out.

Gendry shows up a minute after she sits, carrying everything with him at once. “Am I late?” he asks.

“No. I just got out here myself,” she says, standing up. She put on a soft gray dress, did her hair, and even put on a little makeup, figuring she may as well put a little effort into their strange date.

It looks like he’s done the same thing, dressed in trousers instead of jeans or sweats and a white button down shirt that looks remarkably good on him. He’s got the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and when he leans his arms on the railing, Arya cannot help staring at the corded muscles there.

“You look… beautiful,” he eventually says. He took his time again, so she knew he was trying to find a way to voice his compliment.

“Thank you,” she replies. “You look really good, too. No one should look that good in a plain white shirt, yet here you are, doing just that.”

He blushes and looks at his hands. “Thank you.”

“It almost feels good, putting on real clothes for a change,” she says. “Almost.”

“I didn’t put shoes on,” he admits.

“Me neither,” she affirms, even kicking her leg out between the spaces in the railing to show him her bare foot.

He laughs, then suggests they sit and start eating so their food doesn’t get cold.

“What do you have?” she asks.

“Spaghetti,” he says. “Something easy.”

“Ooo, brave man, eating spaghetti with a white shirt on,” she says.

“I like to live dangerously,” he replies. “What about you?”

“I threw together a stir-fry thing. Just whatever I could find went into the pan, basically. And I had some leftover rice too,” she answers.

“Creative, nice,” he assesses, trying to look over and see.

They tuck into their food, making light conversation while they eat. Due to their 4:00 balcony meetings, the silences are few and don’t feel uncomfortable. When they finish eating, they agree to come back out after cleaning up their dishes.

Arya returns wearing slippers, and Gendry has changed from his trousers into sweats, but he left the white shirt on.

“You’re not going to get cold, are you?” he asks.

“I’m from the North,” she answers. “This isn’t cold.”

“Interesting. I want to hear about that, but first,” he pulls his hands out from behind his back – Arya hadn’t even noticed he had been hiding his hands – to reveal two cupcakes. “I have dessert.”

“How are you going to get that to me?” she asks.

“One second,” he says, setting the cupcakes on his table and disappearing again. He doesn’t bother closing his door and reappears in seconds, a cricket bat in his hand. He places once cupcake on the end of the bat, then extends his arm out across the space between them, bat in hand. Between the length of the bat and his long arms, Arya has no trouble reaching the cupcake.

“Thank you. Is this from Hot Pie?” she asks, but she can already tell it is.

“Yeah. He stopped by today. I could hear you playing, otherwise I would have had you come out here and meet him,” he says, carefully peeling the paper from his cake.

“Next time. Even if I am practicing,” she says.

“Okay,” he chuckles.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

-Day 26 (Wednesday)-

“…numbers of cases have dropped significantly over the past five days, and the Maesters and other health officials feel it is safe to start resuming normal life once again,” the newscaster says. “Grand Maester Tarly has offered the following statement: ‘As we return to our lives, we ask that you learn from this experience. Continue to be mindful of your health and the health of others. Continue using the practices that, we hope, have now become habits, like frequent hand washing. Most importantly, if you feel ill, stay home.’”

_A: It’s over. They say we can go out now._

After their first balcony dinner date (which lasted far later than either of them anticipated), they exchanged phone numbers to make it a little easier to communicate. They’ve also had dinner together every night since then, but agreed to revert back to their everyday casual attire.

_G: Oh thank the gods._

_G: Still not going to go out much tho. I didn’t before._

Arya bites her lower lip, debating. It’s only just after 10 a.m., and it’s the middle of the week. But she’s been perfectly healthy the whole time, and she really, _really_ wants to get within 6 feet of her very attractive, very sweet neighbor.

Her very attractive and sweet neighbor who she has realized she has fallen pretty hard for.

More importantly, she discovered she didn’t get tired of his company, which was the real shock.

“Fuck it,” she says, pocketing her phone and going to her door.

She pauses outside his door, fist raised to knock, when she remembers that he said he works with headphones on.

She drops her hand and pulls out her phone.

_A: You have your headphones on?_

_G: Yeah why_

_A: Because I’m outside your door and you won’t hear me knock._

She hears a ruckus happening within and laughs behind her hand, trying to stop before he opens the door.

She fails, but her laugh still dies quickly as she looks up, up, to see his face looking down at her, eyes wide and lips slightly parted.

He’s _right_ there.

“Hi,” she says.

When he doesn’t say anything right away, her heart speeds up, the anticipation of his next words, whatever they are, sending a thrill through her.

Instead of speaking, he swoops down and immediately kisses her. His arms wrap around her waist and he basically drags her inside his flat, kicking the door closed behind them. She only vaguely hears the bang of the door because she is too busy winding her arms up around his neck and delving her hand into his thick black hair.

He kisses her like he’s been wanting to for weeks, and she kisses him back just as ardently.

Because they _have_ been waiting.

Finally, he pulls away but doesn’t go far, dropping his forehead against hers.

“Hi,” he finally replies.


End file.
